The Wild in her Eyes Page 9

  “No.” Annis found it to be a horrible thought.

  “Having thoughts about pulling their tails?”

  “Of course not!” Annis was nothing short of appalled at the mere suggestion. As if she could ever do any harm to anyone, let alone an animal.

  He smiled, and she understood he’d never been serious. “Then I don’t think they’ll mind one bit.”

  “Do you suppose you’ll ever tire of teasing me?” she asked, though she was focused on conveying her utmost regard for each horse as she passed by, smiling and bowing her head gently. Maybe it was silly but every time their eyes met hers, she sensed that the horses understood her demonstrations of respect. Meanwhile, Sequoyah was showing her far less grace. He was laughing at her yet again.

  “It’s hard to say, but I get the sense you’ll be having a go at me soon enough. And,” he winked at her, setting free a slew of butterflies in her abdomen, “I promise to be a good sport about it when you do.”

  She nodded, trying her best to suppress the smile that threatened to expose the immense pleasure this gave her. She felt like they were making up their own secret rules to a friendship only between them. “That sounds fair enough.” One more step and she was finally beside him. “In the meantime, if it’s all the same to you, I’d really like to get on with the learning bit of my morning, so we can get on to the working part, and then, hopefully, the breakfast part. Which I’m still happy to partake of, fully able to pretend the previously discussed monkey business was merely an impressionistic sort of expression regarding Momma T’s griddle for the sake of hope where hotcakes are concerned.” She also hoped he hadn’t noticed she was rambling.

  “For the sake of hope,” he repeated, taking far more care with her words than she’d have expected. “That’s probably the best reason to do anything.”

  She took a moment to reconsider what she’d said just to be sure he wasn’t poking fun at her again and she’d missed it. No. She really was being uncommonly profound and brilliant as of late. She assumed her recent entanglements with life and death were to blame. Mabel’s talk of silver linings popped into her head and she thought she was beginning to understand the value in seeking those.

  “Yes,” she finally agreed. “I think it is.”

  “Well, then, for the sake of hope and the possibility of hotcakes, I present to you our fearless leader, Catori.” He reached his hand up to pat the face of a paint horse marked in striking black and white.

  “Catori,” Annis whispered, trying out the name, letting it move over her mouth. It was the most unusual she’d ever heard. “It’s a lovely name. Does it mean anything?”

  “Means ‘spirit.’ And she certainly has plenty of that,” Sequoyah said, his hand moving up and curling under the horse’s mane to scratch a place Catori seemed to appreciate.

  “She? You mean to tell me the leader is a girl?”

  Sequoyah nodded, surprise and delight mixing on his face. “It’s common among horses to look to a strong mare to lead them.” He dropped his hand slightly away from Catori’s long neck. The mare nudged him, encouraging him to return his attention to the spot where she had enjoyed being massaged. He chuckled and obliged. “You expected it to be Shilah, the stallion.”

  “I did,” she admitted. She wondered to herself why she had thought that

  Watching Catori, it wasn’t hard to believe she was the one who the other horses sought to guide them, to protect them. Though far from the largest among the herd, she was solid muscle. Her broad, sturdy hooves were built for every terrain. Her eyes conveyed wisdom and deep understanding. In that moment, Annis saw how the animals here were no different from the people. Basileus was not an exception. He was the rule. He, like the rest of them, met a tacit requirement Hugh and Babe had for every member of their crew: the hard-earned courage of experience.

  “Animals don’t share the same ideas about men and women that humans do,” Sequoyah explained softly. “And I think they do better for it.” Annis had to agree. She’d known all her life that the person of greatest strength and dignity in her small world was also the one shunned into silence and treated most like dirt. Though Annis had always respected her housekeeper, she now feared her own complicit guilt for having accepted the actions of others as normal because that person was a woman. And she wasn’t white.

  “Why do you think we do it?” she asked. An ache arose in her chest the more she dwelled on the faulty notions she’d been taught about how some people were simply born superior. It was a question she’d never thought to ask before because, girl or not, she’d been born into a wealthy, white family.

  Sequoyah’s way of giving his attention all around and yet never breaking his eyes from her intensified as he gave up patting the mare’s neck and tuned in entirely to Annis. “Fear.”

  “Fear,” Annis repeated. Her nerves nearly swallowed the word as she said it. Fear. She stared back at him, the gentlest of souls standing before her, and remembered the previous night. She recalled how his was the act that brought the entire audience to a standing ovation. He’d entered the tent howling a war cry that could send chills down the spine of even the bravest of men. He’d looked wild and unpredictable, and portrayed every bit the raw savage some believed his people to be, that they believed him to be. And then he’d shown them the truth. Yes, he was different from them, but he was no one to fear. He’d been kind and gracious, showing nothing but respect to every soul he’d encountered in the ring, be it human or horse. His joy for life had rung out loud and clear in his laughter and the passion in his heart had played wildly in his dance as he’d moved to the thundering rhythm of the herd’s pounding hooves. No, Sequoyah was no one to fear. He was someone to be admired.

  “I think I’ve remembered what I already know,” she said, her voice hoarse.

  “What’s that?” His dark eyes brightened with interest.

  “No one person here is defined by whether they were born a boy or a girl, the color of their skin, or any physical part of them at all. They are measured only in their passion, their talent, their commitment to their craft, and their inexhaustible ability to love without condition or limitation.” She held her chin a little higher. “I’m honored to count myself among you and am hopeful that I may someday measure up as an equal in all the ways that matter here.”

  Sequoyah smiled, dropping his gaze to avert hers for the first time since she’d showed up to join him this morning. He shook his head, chuckling quietly to himself before slowly lifting his eyes toward her again. “You may already have learned everything you need to know after all, Annis,” he said, his smooth, dark voice bringing her nearly as much joy as the words he spoke. “I’m not sure you can learn anything more important than that from me.”

  Annis doubted that was true. In fact, she was almost certain the greatest lessons still ahead for her would come directly from him. “You’re not giving up on being my teacher already, are you?” she teased, particularly delighted at finally finding herself in a position to do so. “At the very least, you could teach me about the horses. How you care for them. What they eat. Where everyone enjoys a good scratch. You know, the important stuff.”

  He grinned. “True. No one knows the good places to scratch better than I do.” He turned halfway on his heel, preparing to dive back into the sea of horses that still surrounded them. “Come on, then. Best start with Shilah. He’s the jealous sort, so if anyone around here is about to get extra attention, it’d better be him.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, making a mental note as she followed him. This time she kept a better pace as they weaved through the horses to reach the black stallion who was kept in a separate corral.

  “While you’re at it, you may also want to remember that Catori will snatch food right from your fingers. And possibly your mouth, if it’s something she really likes. Atsila, the red mare to your left, despises water. She’ll treat a puddle as a lake and she’ll leap to clear it, so be sure to keep out of her way if ever you find yourself
around her and water of any kind.”

  Annis’s head swiveled back and forth, finding each horse and then matching each new detail about them in her mind. She secured these specifics in a sacred new space in her memory.

  Sequoyah rattled off at least ten more facts about several other horses in the few steps they took to reach the second paddock. Annis was grateful for each one he shared, feeling for the first time since she’d arrived that she was on her way to being useful around here. If her part only ever entailed assisting Atsila with her fear of water or rubbing ointment on Gola’s sensitive skin to keep the sun from burning her muzzle, she would feel she was doing something of worth with her life.

  “Why does Shilah have to be over here all alone?” she asked as they climbed into his enclosure, which was sized for only one horse.

  “Gola’s body is giving off misleading signals right now,” he said.

  “What sort of misleading signals?”

  He coaxed the stallion away from his hay and over toward the two of them. “The sort where it’s telling Shilah it’s time to make a foal when, really, it means to say, ‘No way, brother. No more babies. Sequoyah said so.’”

  Annis laughed. “Oh. Those sorts of signals. I can see why he would get confused and need some time to himself to sort it all out.”

  “Yes.” He began to glide his hand down the side of the horse’s neck and up over his withers, moving alongside him. “Besides, a little solitude every now and again is good for the soul.”

  Annis remembered a not so distant past in which she would have argued against this, convinced time spent alone was the worst sort of torture. Being alone meant feeling forgotten and unloved. Abandoned, even. Now she understood better. It hadn’t been the time alone she’d found to be so detrimental, but rather the course of events that had led to her seclusion. And, more importantly, her time traveling through the woods on her own had convinced her that solitude could instill strength, independence, and clear-headedness. It was never to be underestimated, just as keeping company and relying on others could never be overestimated, again. No, the only true value lay in what she could provide for herself. Nothing else could be counted on.

  “Did you always know you wanted to work with horses? That this would be your act one day?” she asked, reaching out a tentative hand toward Shilah, who welcomed the attention.

  Her questions gave Sequoyah pause and she wondered if she’d said something wrong. She was about to plead with him to forget she’d ever asked when he opened his mouth and began to speak slowly. “Horses are the only part of my life that survived the before and reached the after. In a way, they’re all I have left of who I was. They’re the only thing that still ties me to my family, the family I was born into. Every time I walk out here to talk to, to care for, and to meet the horses, eye to eye, I see my family. I talk to my parents. I care for my people. I walk with my tribe.” He moved his palm from the horse to his heart, then back again. “This isn’t work. It’s just part of who I am. A part I never want to forget. As for the act, the tricks aren’t in the theatrics with the horses. It’s in the art of taking what the audience is prepared to see and then showing them what you want them to believe. And yes, from the time I was old enough to understand Poppy’s power of changing perceptions, this was what I wanted him to use it on. This is the truth I wanted to show people.” He waited, letting Annis sift through all he had just shared with her. After a stretch of quiet, he asked, “What’s yours?”

  “My truth?” She’d known he would ask. She’d hoped he wouldn’t but, deep down, she’d known he’d want to know. “I’m not sure I have one anymore.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up, but before it could reach into a full smile, he turned away, moving around the back of the horse and out of her sight. “I’m not sure you had one before.”

  Her defenses sparked. She followed him, moving around Shilah with ease. “And how would you know? You’ve only just met me. You have no idea the person I was before I showed up here.”

  If she’d meant for him to be flustered by her demanding tones, she’d failed. He was hardly bothered at all. “Do you?” he asked, his tone even.

  “Do I what?” Her hands landed in small fists on her waist, frustration building within her. Everyone’s constant curiosities were wearing on her, forcing her to look within and examine the strategically buried parts of her soul. Hadn’t they understood she’d suppressed them for a reason? Of course they had, she realized. It’s why they insisted on prodding and poking, crumbling away her walls to get to what she’d hidden behind them.

  “Do you know who you were before you showed up here?” he asked, this time leaving no room for misunderstanding.

  “Yes. I know exactly who I was before I showed up here. I know even better now than I did while I was still her.”

  He nodded. “Looking back gives a much different perspective, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “What ties you to her now?”

  “Nothing.” She’d answered without thinking, without knowing if it was true or just what she wanted to believe.

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing that I’d like to hold tight to,” she amended. “My story’s not like yours, Sequoyah,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I don’t have a past I want to carry with me into the future.” She shuddered. Her past was the very thing that jeopardized her future. The farther she kept them apart, the more she could enjoy of the present. “What I lost, I left by choice.” Even if it hardly felt like a choice, she knew that’s what it had been. She could have chosen to stay. But she didn’t. “And the only connection I care to keep I’ve already secured in a way that can never be taken.” She vowed to carry the name Annis as her own for the rest of her life. “And it’s a connection I don’t want to share. With anyone,” she finished, quietly but firmly. Sequoyah didn’t question her further.

  They worked well together through the morning, keeping to the basics of communication as he showed her all the ins and outs of the horses’ care. Then, when all were tended to and lazily chewing their hay, they left the horse corral and moved on to find Sawyer. “Need any help this morning?” Sequoyah offered when they found him.

  Sawyer shook his head. “Goldilocks beat you to it. We just finished up. Heading for Momma’s now. You two comin’?”

  Momma T’s food tent sounded as good as heaven to Annis. Her stomach had been rumbling away for the past hour. She’d gone out of her way to hide the sound from Sequoyah, though a few times she suspected he’d heard it.

  “Any word on whether she found her griddle?” Sequoyah asked Sawyer as the three fell into step alongside each other.

  “Never heard word it was missing...” And then Sawyer made a face. “Wait, not the monkey griddle?” he asked, making the connection.

  “Am I going to need to know what the monkey griddle was used for?” Annis asked. “It sounds like it might ruin breakfast, and I’m starving, but this griddle and the monkey situation keeps coming up. So, do I need to know? Or shall I blindly forge ahead and eat my hotcakes when they’re served?”

  “Blindly forge ahead!” Sawyer said, nodding fiercely. “Believe me, it’s what I’d do if only I had the option.”

  “He’s right,” Sequoyah agreed. “Besides, for all we know Poppy was right, and the griddle is gone for good. Just because it was her favorite for frying hotcakes doesn’t mean it was her only.”

  Annis considered this for a moment. “Alright. I’m going to go with that. Bring on the hotcakes!” Both men laughed, and everyone picked up their pace. Momma T’s was just a few feet away and the scent wafting toward them was nothing short of delectable.

  Chapter Eight

  HOMER’S SUPERPOWER

  Momma T’s small tent was the liveliest place Annis had been so far that day. Their party of three grew by four members when they took seats at a long table with Homer, Caroline, Mabel, and Maude. Maude sent a sly grin in Annis’s direction as soon as she sat down, followed by a wink t
hat was easy to interpret and impossible to miss.

  “What was that about?” Sequoyah asked.

  “Just Maude being Maude. You know how she is.” Annis shrugged.

  “I do,” he replied, grinning. “Nice to see you’re keeping up with things around here already if you’ve got her pegged after just one night.”

  “Pretty sure I’ve got Mabel all sorted out too,” Annis said. She was pleased to see her ability to read others was improving. “Still working on everyone else though. Sawyer’s not going to take much longer, and I got a pretty good read on Caroline and Homer this morning. But you,” she pointed her fork at him thoughtfully. “I sense you will be more challenging than the rest.”

  “Why’s that?” He took her fork from her grasp, stabbed a piece of fluffy hotcake with it, and stuck it back in her hand. Her mouth twitched but she kept the smile at bay.

  “Because you want it that way.”

  A brief smirk swept over Sequoyah’s mouth and for a moment she thought he’d counter her again. Instead, he turned toward Homer, who sat next to him, and began chatting about the show that night and the sort of crowd they were expecting. Annis didn’t mind. In fact, she was delighted. Him not saying anything had been all the answer she needed to know she was right. And being right, for a change, felt good, especially when the feeling was combined with the taste of Momma T’s hotcakes and honey. Everyone had looked at her funny when she’d refused the maple syrup, but honey had been the way she’d eaten them when her housekeeper had made them. It felt wrong to stray from that. Maybe there were some ties to her old life she wanted to preserve, after all.

  “You know, if you’re in the mood for a little more adventure,” Caroline began, “I’ve got some new ideas for our act that could use a third person.”

  Annis twisted her mouth back and forth, contemplating Caroline’s idea. A flutter at the pit of her stomach urged her to jump on the opportunity, but the echo of Hugh’s words in her ears squashed the thrill. “I can’t. I’m not allowed.” She shoved another bite into her mouth. “Hugh said.”